


no one said it was a bad choice

by agaave



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, exercises in patience, fauldren is gay and capella is 215lbs of alaskan beef, gratuitous use of fratboy fashion, mason i cant believe this is the first thing i wrote for them omg, thirstfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaave/pseuds/agaave
Summary: Fauldren meets Capella for the first time. It's hard.
Relationships: Capella/Fauldren (original characters)
Kudos: 1





	no one said it was a bad choice

The thing about noticing someone was that it was impossible to _stop._

The first time Fauldren had seen him, he'd walked in five minutes late to their Communications class, just after the professor had begun outlining the class requirements in their syllabus. Fauldren usually tried to reserve judgement on the type of person someone might be before he spoke to them, but the newcomer almost seemed to make it too easy, dressed in a button-up with _three_ buttons popped, his sleeves pushed up, not rolled up. A pair of black Ray-Bans, trimmed in gold, perched on his nose, and he had a half-finished cup of green tea boba in one hand. His wavy black hair had been pulled into a careless ponytail, strands falling free in a manner that was almost breathtakingly casual. 

He took a seat a row ahead of Fauldren, two spots to the left, and as he lifted the cup to his lips to take a sip, Fauldren noticed his nails were painted. Solid black, except for a tiny letter painted in white on each middle finger. _Alpha._ And as he settled in his seat with the languid relaxation of someone who knows he is beautiful, it became apparent that he had no intention of removing the sunglasses, even indoors. 

Fauldren suppressed a snort, turning his attention back to the professor and the planned timeline for their class. 

-

His appearance alone hadn't been the thing that had made Fauldren notice, however. That came later, when Fauldren checked into the library to claim his reservation for a study room. The rooms themselves were soundproofed, but walled with glass, giving any passing student an idea of which ones were currently available.

One had a group of three, chatting idly over microwave popcorn and laptops, their notebooks opened beside them. One held a pair, a blond and brunette ostensibly there to study but too busy gazing at each other lustfully to do anything of meaning. 

And the last one had _him,_ sitting in one of the hard chairs, one knee tucked under his chin, those ridiculous sunglasses still on his face as he read, apparently absorbed by the textbook in front of him. He tapped a pencil absently on his thigh, pausing occasionally to mark something in the pages of the textbook. 

There was something about the intense focus in his face that had Fauldren's steps slowing as he passed, before he realized what he was doing and pressed on, a faint blush coming to his cheeks. 

He had studying to do. 

-

Fauldren had done himself a disservice by noticing his classmate. He should have been just another person in a sea of faces, and Fauldren couldn't help recognizing him, picking him out of the crowd. He saw him again and again, standing in line at the café, studying in the library, or sprawled on the grass outside the student center, chatting comfortably with a woman with straight black hair and ice-blue eyes. 

The sunglasses never came off his face in all that time. There had been a time, early on, when Fauldren had wondered if he was blind, and subsequently felt very guilty about his initial assessment of the man. But he'd seen him reading enough times at the library to know that wasn't the case, and he wrote notes in class with all the attentiveness of someone with full vision. So. He wasn't vision-impaired. It was simply part of his day-to-day living.

It had become apparent to Fauldren over the past few weeks that the breadth of his classmate's limited fucks did not extend to his own personal fashion. He dressed comfortably, and always in a way that seemed aggravatingly cultivated towards showing off his sturdy, built figure. 

Aggravating, because Fauldren found the emphasis on his figure incredibly distracting. It was unfair, he thought, for _anyone_ to have muscles like that, and be so willing to show them off. Once, he had worn a snug-fitting athletic tank top to class that pulled unreasonably tight over his chest, the imprint of twin barbells in his nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric. Fauldren had spent most of that class with his mouth feeling very dry. He was not the only one, judging by a few of the sidelong glances from some of the other students. 

And then he had twined his fingers together, lifting both hands above his head and stretching, and Fauldren thought he had all the evidence he would ever need to make it illegal for this kind of clothing to be worn in public. 

The worst incident by far, however, had been in the gym. There was one on-campus, the membership part of their tuition cost. Fauldren did not consider himself a gym rat by any means, but he had never allowed himself to slack in anything, including his own health. He'd swiped his card at the front desk, stepped past the turnstiles, and there _he_ was, the slow flex of his bicep tantalizing as he lifted a weight thicker than Fauldren's calf. Despite its size, the lift and drop of the weight was slow and even, perfectly controlled. 

Unbelievable. That a person like this could just... exist seemed like an affront. Fauldren turned and headed towards the treadmills, not catching the lingering gaze at his back.

-

It was the second week of October that Fauldren’s favorite distraction didn’t show up to class. Not that he was a _distraction,_ per se. To be honest, Fauldren's investment in him didn't go beyond the times he saw him directly. 

Mostly.

At least, enough that he only wondered in passing where the man with sunglasses had gone. Despite his occasional lateness, he'd clearly been very studious, and it was an unusual thing for him to be missing completely.

He showed up again for the Thursday class, though, sidling into his usual seat with a sniffle.

He looked… miserable, actually. His cheeks and nose were flushed pink, and he alternated between sniffling and an awful coughing that made Fauldren think he needed at least another week recuperating in bed. 

The professor's thin, faltering voice cut through the auditorium then, diverting Fauldren's attention. Still, he couldn't help but sneak a glance over every time his classmate coughed, doing his best to suppress the noise and only marginally succeeding. Fauldren wondered for a brief, wild moment if there was anyone to take care of him.

The lecture ended, replaced by the creak of seats and shuffling of papers as students packed up their things to leave. Fauldren paused for a moment to check his notes, write the date down for later review. He liked making sure things were organized that way. 

"Hey."

Fauldren looked up in surprise, finding those sunglasses only a few feet away from him. They flickered away from a moment, as the wearer stopped to sneeze into the crook of his arm.

"Fuck. Sorry," he said, and Fauldren tried to keep his voice level as he responded.

"It's fine. Hello."

"Sorry," his classmate said again, offering him a shy smile and fuck, it was dazzling up close. "Can I… take a picture of your notes? I missed class on Tuesday, so I’m behind.”

“I - sure,” Fauldren said, and tried not to sound breathless. “Yes, of course.”

A millisecond after agreeing, Fauldren remembered he had left Tuesday’s notes back in his apartment. Oops. 

“Um, I don’t - have them on me right now, but I can text them to you after class, if you’d like?”

“That’s fine,” his smile widened, no one had the right to look that sweet when they were that sick, “Here, you can punch your number into my phone.”

Fauldren accepted the slightly battered phone to type in his number, aware of the eyes on him.

“I’m Capella, by the way.”

“Fauldren,” he said, handing the phone back. 

Capella took it, thumbs flashing over the screen as he saved Fauldren’s name and contact info, and Fauldren felt his own phone buzz in his pocket. 

“There,” Capella said, “Now you have my number, too. Thanks again.”

He gave Fauldren a jaunty little salute.

“Text me anytime, okay?”

Fauldren watched him leave, pulling his phone out of his contact to save Capella’s number as a contact before he could forget. Capella’s message was at the top of his recents, and Fauldren swallowed as he saw the preview.

_Oh._

-

“This is ridiculous,” Fauldren said, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s just a text.”

His last class had finished fifty minutes ago, and he’d been back at his apartment for another hour. It should have been a simple matter to dig out his notes, snap a picture, and move on with his life. Click, send, done.

Except he hadn't even gotten around to even opening Capella's text yet. It taunted him, and there weren't even any words; just a single heart and rose. 

_Illegal,_ Fauldren thought furiously, it was illegal for someone to do this, he was going to go to court and make a case.

Fueled by a month's worth of frustration, Fauldren picked up his phone, swiping open the camera app and taking pictures of his notes. He tapped Capella's message, opening the chat and attaching the images, his phone making a pleasant little swoop as it sent them off. 

**Capella:** ❤🌹  
**Capella:** thank u!! 💖

**Fauldren:** You're welcome

There. That was it. It was done - 

**Capella:** oh  
**Capella:** this is. a lot more than i expected  
**Capella:** do u mind if i ask u to clarify some stuff

Fauldren gripped his phone so tightly the case creaked. The universe was just mocking him at this point, wasn't it?

**Fauldren:** Not at all. Whatever you need


End file.
